


they're alive, can you feel it?

by terrifier



Series: Klaus Whump [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, Gen, Ghosts, Portals, Underworld, Young Klaus Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrifier/pseuds/terrifier
Summary: At thirteen years old, Four got sober to see his brother's ghost. It didn't work. Instead, his father locked him in the mausoleum to get over his fear of the dead. But, he escaped. He escaped into the Underworld, where he lived and ruled for seventeen years.Until his father's ghost appeared.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Death, Klaus Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Series: Klaus Whump [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875406
Comments: 49
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!🎄😊 I hope you're all having a wonderful day!

Four is only thirteen years old when he follows his brother in running away. Of course, he runs away by accident. Five, he caused a scene in the middle of dinner, ran away, and never returned. Four, well, he got sober to see if Five was really dead like Reginald had claimed, only for his attempts to backfire when Reginald locked him in the mausoleum.

His escape, as proud as he was of himself for doing so, had actually been accidental. To begin with, he'd only thought himself capable of _seeing_ ghosts. Nothing more, nothing less. And he'd hated it, so he'd gotten high and drunk to block them out (because apparently narcotics got rid of the corpses). Anyway, he'd thought his power was useless.

But, as it turned out, it wasn't. Because there was more to his abilities than simply seeing the dead. He could create a portals. Portals to the Underworld, as he called it. Which is how he'd escaped from the mausoleum. His powers had flared up with his fear of the ghosts, his hands and veins lighting up blue, and a portal had appeared right beneath him.

And, as expected, he'd fallen straight through it before he could even consider what the hell was happening to him.

He fell and he fell, and he fell, for what felt like an eternity until he came to an abrupt stop just before hitting the ground. Then, he fell the final distance and landed on dead grass.

It took him a while, but he eventually came to realise that wherever he was, the dead ruled. There were ghosts and lost souls, and people who hadn't even realised they were dead. He was the only one alive, and he had no way of getting back. 

But, watching the ghosts' behaviour and how they barely glanced at him, he realised that maybe the Underworld (as he later named it) wasn't so bad. And besides, he had every right to be there because his powers took him there.

Following his sudden appearance in the Underworld, Four found an empty house on the hill in the horizon. Ghosts and other beings seemed to avoid it, but not Four. He made it his home. He lived there and he watched over everything.

Over the years, as he came to the slow realisation that he hadn't aged a day since arriving, he became ruler of the Underworld. The ghosts seemed to listen to his every word, follow his every command, and they would turn on each other if given the order.

Four was like a God to them.

And, living in that house on the hill, overseeing eveything, he felt like a God.

It was everything he'd ever wanted since discovering his powers. He wanted to rule the ghosts, not have them rule _him_. 

And he did rule the ghosts. They no longer terrified him, he terrified _them_.

That was, until a very familiar face appeared in his land.


	2. Chapter 2

Four crouched down beside a bramble in the ancient park in the centre of the Underworld, his battered, old trench coat brushing the dry grass beneath his bare feet. The park was his favourite place to go in the Underworld when he wasn't at home. The ghosts didn't really go there, too content in wandering the streets to bother with the park. 

Plus, the park had a few fruit trees that he liked to find food at. The fruit wasn't in the best condition and most of it was probably off, but he had to eat something and it he preferred it over... Well, over the other stuff he'd been forced to eat when he couldn't find any fruit. 

There was an orange lying prone on the ground by the bramble, obviously having fallen from its tree a couple feet away. He reached over and picked it up. It was soft and when he turned it over, he saw a small grey circle on its skin. It was obviously off, but, looking around, he couldn't find anymore fruit, so it was either this or starve for another day.

He sat down fully and crossed his legs, then began peeling the skin off the orange. The juice trailed down his dirty, torn fingers and dripped onto the grass. He tossed the peel on the ground and brought the entire orange to his mouth, taking a bite out of it instead of eating it piece by piece.

His stomach immediately thanked him for the food he was providing it with grumbling, so he ate some more. He hadn't realised how hungry he'd been, his stomach having long since given up on protesting, but in the Underworld, it was hard to find food. After all, it was a place for the dead, not the living.

It was moments like those that he thought back to when he still lived with the Hargreeves. His mother's cooking was to die for; excuse the pun. 

All too soon, the fruit disappeared from his hands and he was forced to simply suck the juice off his fingers. It tasted better than the water that came from his faucets at home. 

Wiping his hands on his dirty jeans, he moved so he was on his hands and knees and began lifting the branches from the bramble bush, hoping to find some more oranges, or even a plum. He wasn't too fond of plums, never had been, but he would eat anything he could find to survive.

Despite his best attempts, he couldn't find anymore fruit. With a forlorn sigh, he clambered back to his feet and wrapped his coat tighter around him at the feel of a breeze passing by. It must be winter back where he came from. The seasons in the Underworld always seemed to follow the seasons from up above. In the summer, everything always got too hot and the stench of death always became one hundred times worse. He would spend the majority of the summer at home unless he had to leave for food.

Four left the park, passing through the gates just as a particularly morbid looking ghost ambled by. He shot the ghost a glare when it noticed him, and it immediately looked away, managing to stumble a little faster despite its broken leg. 

With a satisfied smile, Four turned in the direction of his home and began walking. His house was a while away, all the way on top of a hill outside of the city. By the time he'd walked to the city and back, his feet would be sore and hurt, despite being accustomed to the journey by now. He'd lost count of how long he'd been in the Underworld, but it must've been around sixteen to seventeen years by now. He still hadn't aged a day.

The journey home was a long one. It was colder than usual and the wind had picked up, blowing leaves and smell of death with it, much the Four's dismay. He was forced to pull his scarf up over his mouth and nose in an attempt to get rid of it. It mostly worked.

By the time he reached his front door, his fingers were ice cold and he was shivering all over. He was relieved to be home, even if his journey to the main part of the Underworld only rewarded him with a single orange. Still, it was better than nothing and his hunger was mostly satiated and it was better than nothing.

He reached a stiff hand out to open his door, grateful to be home, only for a forceful gust of wind to attack him. He turned away and closed his eyes, brining his arm up to cover his face, lest it go numb from the cold. The wind pushed against him relentlessly and he staggered back a bit before digging his heels into the dirt path leading to his front door, but the wind didn't let up. 

He'd never experienced winds this strong before, not in the Underworld. He briefly wondered if a tornado was on its way to forming. He grabbed hold of whatever was closest, which happened to be his windowsill, and dug his feet further into the ground. It did little to ground him, though, as he soon found himself being blown backwards and landing hard on his back.

With a grunt, he clawed at the ground, hoping that now he was already down, the strange winds wouldn't be able to attack him anymore. 

His theory wasn't put to the test, though, because not even four seconds later, the invisible forces settled and Four was left gasping for air on the ground, the striking realisation that _something_ had happened in his Underworld quickly taking root in his mind as he scrambled back up to his feet.

There was barely time to straighten his coat and check for bruises as he took off, heading back down to the city to figure out what had changed and where that strange wind came from. It was no usual wind. It had brought something with it and Four intended to find out what so he could eliminate the threat.

It took him considerably less time to return to the city than when he'd made his journey home due to the fact that he'd run back, but when he arrived, he was on his guard. He walked cautiously through the streets, eyeing the ghosts and lost souls as he went, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As far as he could see, nothing looked misplaced or different.

Everything was as it was when he'd left. 

So, what the hell was that wind? Why did it feel so... peculiar? So... extraordinary.

With narrowed eyes, he lifted his left hand up, ready to defend himself if need be. There was something in the Underworld that wasn't wanted, and he would find it. The ghosts seemed undisturbed, still going on their unmerry way, despite his sudden presence and whatever the wind had been.

He passed by the park he'd found his dinner in, and glanced inside as he went. There was no one in there. Nothing had been touched since he left. 

He wandered the city for ten minutes before he found something. He came to a crossroad, one he was familiar with as he'd spent a few months sleeping there before deciding to move to the house on the hill. At the end of one of the roads, was a church. It was dull and sent shivers up his spine. It didn't feel holy at all. One of the large wooden doors was open, though he knew none of the ghosts had been in there, well, ever.

The most notable thing, however, on the apparently normal, Underworld street, was the man standing in front of it. He didn't look like any of the other ghosts, from what Four could see. The man was facing away from him, so he couldn't see much, but the black suit he was wearing was fresh and crisp, and there wasn't a single crease in it. The man's hair was an aged white, and looked perfectly trimmed. His hands were in front of him and through the slight gap between his feet, Four was sure he could see a cane.

There was something familiar about the man, though Four hadn't seen his face yet. Living in the Underworld, even as its ruler, took a lot out of you. You learned to live with what you have, and take what you didn't. You learned that even if you owned every street, house, and living being that existed there, you weren't entitled to a life of luxury, and anything you might've had up above, well, it was simply a distant memory by now. Especially if you've lived in the Underworld for as long as he had. 

But what the Underworld couldn't take, were things buried so deeply into one's memories, like Four's siblings (he was sure he had six of them) and his mother's cooking (wasn't she an android?). Those memories may become hazy and distant over time, almost impossible to remember correctly, but they were still there and there was nothing in the Underworld that could take them away from him.

This man, standing on the other end of the street and looking at the church, must have been apart of one of those memories because although Four merely felt an ancient fear and hatred when looking at him, he was still unable to turn away, desperate to remember who this man was.

Four drifted slowly down the street, eyes locked onto the back of the man's head. This man must have been responsible for the wind because he couldn't look away. He had to know who the man was.

His breath picked up slightly, the closer he got, and by the time he was stood just behind the man, trembling hand reaching for his sleeve, he felt like he was going to pass out.

His fingers brushed the man's sleeve, just barely, but the man turned anyway, attention stolen away from the church. 

The man's eyes locked onto his, and Four's widened with sudden and startling recognition. He remembered exactly who the man was, now. How could he have forgotten? The man's face was burned into his mind forever. He was the sole reason Four was in the Underworld in the first place. He was the root of Four's nightmares, even seventeen years later. His words and actions were scarred on the forefront of Four's mind.

He took a hurried step back, even as the man's face remained impassive, that momentary flash of surprise vanished from his eyes.

"Dad?" He croaked, voice hoarse from sparse use and lack of liquids.

"Number Four," Reginald's voice was just the same as it had been all those years ago, "I see you haven't changed a bit."

"H-how did you find me? Wait, what are you doing here? This is _my_ Underworld!" Four tried desperately, defensive as he thrust his arm back out in front of him with an unspoken threat.

Reginald hardly glanced at it. 

"Underworld?" Reginald sneered with disgust. He glanced around at the dark place, at the fiery orange sky, the dead plant life, the moaning ghosts. "This is... Well, I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's a disgrace."

"A disgrace?" Four repeated incredulously. "A disgrace? I own this place! I own these ghosts! Those creatures prowling the streets, lingering in the shadows. I own them all. I'd be careful how you talk to me, old man. I'm not your little toy soldier anymore. I own them, I own _you_."

Despite his blank face, Four caught a glimpse of real fear in Reginald's eyes. Four couldn't recall ever seeing any emotion other than disgust and disappointment in his father's eyes before, and he took immense satisfaction in being the cause of the man's current fear.

He straightened up, but kept his arm outstretched. 

"How did you get here?" Four asked again.

"Obviously, I am dead," Reginald reported.

"Dead?" Four repeated.

"Indeed."

"You're actually dead?" Four giggled. "Wow. And what about my siblings? The monkey butler and mom? Are they all dead?"

"Number Six died a long time ago, but the others are all alive," Reginald revealed.

Four's arm almost fell in shock. Six was dead. His brother, the one who'd loved to reaf books and comics, who sat quietly when the others were all arguing, yet had the brightest, most infectious laugh, was dead. His brother was dead. Had died a long time ago, apparently. So why hadn't Four seen him?

Surely if his father was here right now, then Six would have appeared too? Unless... unless Six was up above with all of the other, more unsavoury ghosts. Maybe he himself had become one. Maybe his tentacles had, too.

A full body shiver ran through Four and he turned away from his father for a moment.

"The others are all alive?" He asked.

"Yes," Reginald confirmed.

Four nodded and looked back, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

"Good," he said.

He thought back to all of the better moments he'd spent with his siblings, the smaller, brighter moments that had meant the world to them all because they were so rare and fleeting in the Hargreeves household that they had to be treasured.

He remembered Diego teaching him to fight because he'd rather be taught by his brother than his father. He remembered Five helping him with the homework that Reginald had set him, and him alone. He recalled very vividly all of a sudden, sitting in Vanya's room when the ghosts got to be too much, and listening to her practice the violin. He could close his eyes and listen to it all day, and just pretend he was a normal boy in a normal family without any weird powers.

When living in the Underworld became really lonely and he missed the warmth and presence of another living person, like Ben or Diego, or even Luther, he would lay in his bed at home with a pillow tucked against his front, and cry. He'd lost count the amount of times he'd drawn his siblings, the amount of home-made family portraits he'd drawn in his loneliness, but none of them could replace the real things.

Living in the Underworld was cold and lonely, and sometimes, when it got bad, he would stand outside his house, facing the city, and prepare himself. Prepare himself to create a portal and just go back to where he'd come from. He could do it. He knew he could because he'd created the portals before, but he could never go through with it.

He had a new life. He ruled the Underworld. He ruled the dead. He had become the master of his powers and it had given him this new life. What was waiting for him back home other than maybe a few siblings who have probably already accepted the loss of a second sibling and moved on? Down there, in the Underworld, the ghosts listened to him, not the other way around. He owned them. He was like a God to them. He _was_ a God, actually- God of the Underworld. 

Back up above, it wasn't like that. The ghosts, they terrified him, as much as he hated to admit it. They yelled and screamed, and wailed, and cried, and clawed, and scratched, and- they were monsters. They weren't like the ones down in the Underworld, who were submissive and fearful of him. 

But... looking around at the ghosts where he currently was, he had to wonder. If he could get these ghosts to fear and obey him, maybe he could control the ones up above. Plus, his father had recently died. That must mean a funeral was in order. His siblings would all be in the same place, mourning their recently deceased father.

He could see them all again, see how they were doing, what they were doing with their lives. Say a proper goodbye before coming back to the Underworld. Or, maybe he wouldn't return. Not now that his father was in his land.

He eyed his father, who was watching him carefully, scrutinising him. 

"Will there be a funeral?" He inquired.

"I expect so. Pogo will no doubt arrange something," Reginald confirmed.

"Good," he said, "then my siblings will be there."

"You're going back?" Reginald asked.

"Of course," Four nodded, grinning, "after all, my father just died."

He waved his hand, and a portal appeared behind himself. With another wave, he bid his stunned father goodbye and stepped backwards through the portal before he could second guess his decision.

* * *

"It's been seventeen years."

"It's been a lot longer than that."

Talking and then oddly familiar whooshing noises met Four's ears as he walked through his portal. Those noises should be impossible, but, then again, wasn't everything that had to do with his family just impossible? Still, just a little further and he'd reach his destination.

"Where'd you go?"

"The future. It's shit, by the way."

Four's portal ended just as the familiar voice finished his sentence, and he stepped out of the blue tunnel into... the kitchen.

"Called it," he said in response to the voice's statement.

And, technically, he had called it. A long, long time ago now, he was surprised he'd remembered. 

Five pairs of eyes looked up in alarm to face him, and he preened under the attention. He looked around at all of them in turn, taking note of who was who. It was laughably easy to recognise each of them, though he did have to wonder what had happened to Luther.

In the end, his eyes fell upon Five. His brother was as young as he himself physically looked, yet he was wearing a suit miles too big for him.

Slowly, Four rounded the table, passing by all of his other siblings in his mission to reach Five. When they were stood toe to toe, almost eye to eye if Four had been a tiny bit shorter, Four almost cried. He hadn't seen Five in so long, and here he was, exactly the same as he was the day he'd ran away.

"Five," Four breathed with heavy relief.

"Four," Five noted.

"Hang on, what is going on?" Diego's voice cut through the small reunion. "First Five, now Four? Have you all just been hiding until dad died?"

"Something like that, yeah," Four smiled.

"What I want to know is why you're both children," Allison said.

"Well, in the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that existed across every possible instance of time," Five explained as he went back to making his fluffer nutter.

"That makes no sense," Diego said.

"What about you, Four?" Allison pried.

"Oh, well that's a little more complicated than what science can answer," he giggled and threw a look at Five, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"What could be more complicated than time travel?" Five demanded.

"The Underworld," Four answered.

"The what?" Luther asked.

"The Underworld, where I've been living for the past... Come to think if it, how long has it been?"

"You don't know how long it's been?" Vanya questioned.

"Not really. I know it's been at least sixteen, seventeen years? Something like that. Hard to tell in the Underworld."

"Yeah, it's been seventeen years," Vanya confirmed.

"I'm sorry, but what's the Underworld?" Luther looked confused.

"Too hard to explain, you wouldn't understand. Besides, don't we have a funeral to attend? When is that happening?"

"How do you even know about the funeral?"

"Dad told me. Obviously."

"How did... Nevermind," Luther shrank slightly in embarrassment.

"Idiot," Diego rolled his eyes at Luther, who in turn glared at the former.

"Wait, did dad say anything else when you saw him? Like, how he died?" Luther suddenly asked.

"Some things never change," Five muttered to himself before taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Oh, yeah, now that you mention it, he did," Four nodded eagerly.

"What did he say?"

"Said something along the lines of, ' _he poisoned my tea_!'" Four held his fingers up to his eyes, holding a fake monocle, and another hand in front of him in an imitation of a saucer.

"Really?" Luther furrowed his brows and the others sighed.

"No," Four said flatly, mildly surprised that One had believed his terrible British accent and game of charades. "He didn't say anything about his death other than the fact that, well, he was dead."

"Oh."

"I've had enough of this," Five rolled his eyes and began exiting the room.

"What, is that it?" Allison called to his retreating form.

"What's there to say? Circle of life, baby," Five responded. 

Four frowned and sniffed. He turned and looked around the room. Now that he wasn't distracted, he could smell... He could smell fruit. Oranges. Where... There. On the side. Sat on a chopping board beside a knife, were oranges. Fresh ones, too. They hadn't been chopped yet.

He hurried towards the oranges before they could disappear or rot away and snatched them off the side. He wasted no time in tearing into them and messily removing the peel. He was sure there was still some on there as he began shoving them into his waiting mouth, though.

"Jesus, Four, at least wait until you've removed the peel before eating it," Allison's exasperated voice met his ears.

"M'hungry," he mumbled around the fruit, half turning to her before reaching for another orange and tearing into that one, too.

"For G- look, just sit down and eat that, and I'll make you something. How does that sound?"

He looked up, coming face to face with Allison. She'd moved over to him in the past few seconds, and he almost startled, but managed to control himself, mostly used to ghosts appearing from nowhere.

He staree at the half eaten orange in his palms and considered it. Did he really want more fruit after seventeen years of it, or did he want whatever his sister was offering to make him. He personally had no experience cooking, and he kind of missed cooked meals.

Slowly, he nodded his head, accepting her offer. She smiled encouragingly at him as he went to sit on the table surface in front of his other siblings. He went back to eating his orange, this time less erratically, to the sound of Allison removing dishes from the cupboards. He glanced up one final time at his sympathetic siblings' faces before beginning to eat the orange peel. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, not only am i experiencing some serious writer's block, I've also kind of fallen out of love with this fandom atm. I really did want to finish this fic and all of my others, but i just can't find it in me to do so without making a mess of them. 
> 
> However, I've decided to post what i had written for this fic anyway and maybe come back at a later date and finish it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, commentes and gave kudos to this fic and all my others. I'm sorry guys.

Allison scraped a couple of cooked bacon strips onto a plate beside the eggs and then placed the pan and spatula back down on the unlit grill. She picked up the plate and before she could take it to Four, she paused with consideration. She thought back to her childhood and remembered something about her brother.

He really liked ketchup. 

Back then, he used to have it on whatever he could without being called weird. She was sure she even saw him put it on toast once. She grabbed the bottle from the fridge and took it back to the plate where she opened it and squirted its contents over the meal.

It wasn't much, as she was used to having food made for her on set and back at the Academy, but it was something simple she knew Four liked. She hoped his tastebuds hadn't changed.

With the meal ready, she brought it over to Four who had been patiently sitting on the surface of the table. The others had all left by now, all either having something to do or trying to find something until the memorial. They'd left her with Four, but that was okay because she wanted to catch up with him anyway, possibly try to figure out where exactly he'd been and where the 'Underworld' was.

"Here you go," she said and placed the plate in front of him, "but you should probably wash your hands before eating."

"There's nothing wrong with my hands," Four retorted, eyebrows furrowed in offense.

"They're kinda dirty, Four, you'll get sick," Allison pointed out.

"I haven't gotten sick before," he said and picked up one of the bacon strips.

She eyed the knife and fork she'd set out for him to use as he tore into the food with his hands, then rolled her eyes and took a seat in front of him, also on the table.

She let Four eat first, aware of how hungry he was. After all, he'd eaten two entire oranges and their peel not even five minutes after returning. There had been no hesitation as he'd ripped them open and began scarfing them down.

It was similar to the way he was eating his current food, simply shoving the food into his waiting mouth, unbothered about the dirt and blood covering his hands. It could hardly be seen behind the ketchup that now covered them, anyway, she supposed.

About three minutes later, Four was finished and was licking the plate of any yolk or ketchup left. She tried not to let her disgust show. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby B]
> 
> Know what else is back? The Umbrella Academy

Allison scraped a couple of cooked bacon strips onto a plate beside the eggs and then placed the pan and spatula back down on the unlit grill. She picked up the plate and before she could take it to Four, she paused with consideration. She thought back to her childhood and remembered something about her brother.

He really liked ketchup. 

Back then, he used to have it on whatever he could without being called weird. She was sure she even saw him put it on toast once. She grabbed the bottle from the fridge and took it back to the plate where she opened it and squirted its contents over the meal.

It wasn't much, as she was used to having food made for her on set and back at the Academy, but it was something simple she knew Four liked. She hoped his tastebuds hadn't changed.

With the meal ready, she brought it over to Four who had been patiently sitting on the surface of the table. The others had all left by now, all either having something to do or trying to find something until the memorial. They'd left her with Four, but that was okay because she wanted to catch up with him anyway, possibly try to figure out where exactly he'd been and where the 'Underworld' was.

"Here you go," she said and placed the plate in front of him, "but you should probably wash your hands before eating."

"There's nothing wrong with my hands," Four retorted, eyebrows furrowed in offense.

"They're kinda dirty, Four, you'll get sick," Allison pointed out.

"I haven't gotten sick before," he said and picked up one of the bacon strips.

She eyed the knife and fork she'd set out for him to use as he tore into the food with his hands, then rolled her eyes and took a seat in front of him, also on the table.

She let Four eat first, aware of how hungry he was. After all, he'd eaten two entire oranges and their peel not even five minutes after returning. There had been no hesitation as he'd ripped them open and began scarfing them down.

It was similar to the way he was eating his current food, simply shoving the food into his waiting mouth, unbothered about the dirt and blood covering his hands. It could hardly be seen behind the ketchup that now covered them, anyway, she supposed.

About three minutes later, Four was finished and was licking the plate of any yolk or ketchup left. She tried not to let her disgust show, even as she watched him stop licking the plate to lick his fingers. 

When he was done, he put the plate down on the table with a small clang and put his hands in his lap as he faced her.

"Done?" Allison asked him, a small amused smirk finally making its way to her face.

"Yeah, thanks," Four said.

"You're welcome," Allison replied.

The two lapsed into a silence filled only by the beginnings of rain outside in the courtyard. The silence was by no means comfortable and Four seemed to think the wooden table beneath him was more interesting than her. Allison hadn't realised how hard it would be to talk to a sibling who had been gone for seventeen years, especially after said sibling had just returned.

Surprisingly, it was Four who broke the silence first as Allison had been trying to think of what to say next.

"I assume you have questions," he said with a knowing look that was definitely far wiser than it should have looked on his thirteen-year-old face.

"Uh, yeah," Allison confirmed, almost caught off guard by his look, "where exactly have you been all these years? I know you said the Underworld, but what _is_ the that? Where is it?"

Four chuckled, seemingly amused.

"What?" Allison rose an eyebrow.

"It's exactly that. The Underworld," Four explained in a way that didn't explain anything.

"I still don't get it," Allison said.

"Well, take this. Everything around us. The planet," Four began.

"Okay," Allison nodded.

"The Underworld is basically the same except it's a little creepier and it's home to the dead instead of the living."

Allison couldn't tell if Four was having her on or not, but he looked deadly serious (pun unintended). And the way he explained it with such conviction was enough to almost convince her.

"So, you've been living amongst the dead all these years? Ghosts?" Despite not having seen Four in seventeen years, she still cared about him. He was her brother, after all. The thought of him living amongst ghosts for almost two decades made a feeling of anxiety settle in the pit of her stomach like an anvil.

"Yeah. Well, actually, technically, no. I lived in this house on the other side of town and only socialised with the ghosts if I needed something, like food. There's this lovely little fruit tree in the park in town, which is where I got my food from, but unfortunately, a lot of the ghosts like to hang around the park," Four shrugged, "I know how to make them leave me alone, though."

The ominous tone he had taken by the end of his explanation wasn't enough to quell the anxiety bubbling horribly in her stomach so she just nodded and told herself she didn't want to know anymore. He seemed to have taken care of himself well enough, even if he did look a little malnutritioned and dehydrated. 

Nodding to show she understood, Allison slipped off of the table and peered outside. The rain seemed to be getting heavier and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon judging by the dark grey clouds covering the sky. She didn't know about the rest of her siblings, but she didn't want to stay at the Umbrella Academy much longer, so they should probably start the funeral soon before nightfall.

"I'm going to see if I can find Luther," she told Four, "we need to get the funeral started soon."

"What about the rain?" Four asked.

"We have umbrellas," Allison told him, then grinned, "loads."

"You know, I always wondered why the old man called us the Umbrella Academy," Four hopped off the table to join her.

"Take a guess."

"Hey, I know it's been seventeen years and all, but is my room still here or did Vanya knock the wall down to make her room bigger?" Four grinned. "You know how she can be."

Allison rolled her eyes at his joke, "yes, it's still there. I think the door's locked though so you might have to ask Pogo or Mom for the key."

"The monkey butler and the robot, right? See, I knew I wasn't imagining things," Four patted her on the arm, "right, I'm going to see if I can find them."

That said, Four left the kitchen in search of Mom or Pogo.

"Don't be late for the funeral," she called after him and watched him raise his hand in response, not breaking his stride.

* * *

Around fifteen minutes later, Four had finally located Pogo and been informed that the room would currently be unlocked because Grace was cleaning it. With a shrug, he began the journey of actually finding his room based on the hazy memories his mind was supplying him with.

Eventually, after a weird little adventure where he opened and closed many doors leading to unoccupied rooms, he found his own bedroom on the second floor. There was a bathroom at the other end of the hallway which he wandered down to before entering his room. He could hear Grace inside humming a little tune to herself as she cleaned his room.

When he entered the bathroom, he looked around. There was a clawed bathtub in the centre of the room, sitting on black and white tiles. To his right was a sink with a mirror cabinet above it.

He didn’t care about the contents of the cupboard, he was more concerned with what he saw when he looked into the mirror.

Unfortunately, there were no mirrors in the Underworld which meant he had to use the murky water that left the faucets to gauge how he looked (more often than not, that meant his hair ended up a little choppy whenever he took scissors to it).

Looking in the mirror above the sink, he could see why his siblings looked so shocked and worried when they looked at him. His hair, as he’d said, was undoubtedly choppy, and his cheeks were gaunt. Living on fruit alone and occasionally undercooked rodent meat would do that to someone.

His face was caked with grime from who knows where, and his dark hair had debris and all sorts of dirt in it. He would need a shower later (Lord knows he hasn’t had a proper one in a long time), but for now, he would settle with just washing his face.

He made a face at himself in the mirror and turned the faucet on. There was a bar of soap in a dish next to the faucet so he grabbed that and used it to wash his hands before rinsing them and splashing cold water on his face.

The coldness was refreshing and it seeped into his pores in the best way. He gasped when the water ran down his face, allowing himself a moment to breathe before gathering some soap on his hands and scrubbing his face with it.

He could practically feel the impact the suds were having, and the way they were cleansing to dirt from his face.

Once he was done, he splashed more water on his face and then used the towel on the ring beside him to dry his face.

Almost hesitantly, he turned back to the mirror and then let his jaw hit the floor. He looked... well, almost human. Fresh and new. If you took his messy hair out of the equation, you could almost mistake him for a normal boy (well, a twenty something year old with the appearance of a teenager).

Patting his cheeks with a grin, he gave a once over of the bathroom before leaving to finally enter his room.

Just as he reached the door and was about to push it open, Grace stepped out and stopped short upon seeing him.

”Uh, hey, Mom,” he hoped she wouldn’t mind him calling her that after so long.

”Four,” Mom smiled, her ruby red lips revealing behind them perfectly white teeth, “how lovely to see you.”

”It’s lovely to see you too, Mom,” something clenched in his chest and a strange feeling emerged in his throat, causing him to gulp.

”Four? What’s wrong?” Mom asked with concern written all over her face.

She crouched down in front of him and took his face gently in her hands. Four wanted to point out that her skirt was really pretty or something like that, but his mind was all over the place. He was feeling so many things at once all of a sudden and he didn’t know why.

”What do you mean?” He whispered, his voice cracking near the end of his sentence.

”Well, you’re crying, silly,” Mom replied with a frown, “what’s wrong, my flower?”

”I- I don’t know,” Four said honestly. He realised now that his vision was blurry with the tears Mom could see but he couldn’t feel, but he didn’t feel sad in the slightest. In fact, he was happy.

”Are you hurt?” Mom asked.

”No, I... I’m happy,” he admitted then wrapped his smaller arms around her waist.

Without hesitating, she returned the hug, placing one hand on the back of his head despite his dirty hair. She rested her chin on top of his head and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, listening to the whirring inside of her. He didn’t realise how comforting a sound he hadn’t heard in almost twenty years could be.

”Why are you happy, dear?” Mom asked.

”I think I’m just happy to see you. It’s been seventeen years. I’ve been alone for so long, Mom. I missed you, even when I thought I’d made you up,” Four sniffled. Now that the flood gates had opened, he couldn’t stop his mouth from spilling things he didn’t even know he’d been feeling.

”I missed you, too,” Mom kissed the top of his head and slowly pulled away from him, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

”Sorry,” Four sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat.

”Don’t apologise,” Mom gently scolded him as she began wiping away the moisture on his cheeks.

Four nodded and stayed quiet until she’d finished wiping his cheeks.

”Those clothes are much too big for you, dear, why don’t you change back into your uniform? I’m sure you’ll feel much better then,” she booped him on the nose and once he’d nodded (though he personally didn’t fancy wearing the uniform, she was right that his current outfit was too big- plus, it was really worn), she stood to her full height again and stepped aside to allow him access to his room.

”Thanks, mom,” he said before entering a room he hadn’t stepped foot in, in years.

He closed the door behind him once he heard her humming begin once again, and then sighed. He knew he probably wouldn’t go back to the Underworld anytime soon, not now that his father was down there haunting the place with his ugly mug, but he really didn’t want to wear the Academy uniform again.

It was so boring and unfashionable, even by his standards and he’d been wearing the same clothes now for about five years (since he found them in an old motel).

Who wears boy shorts, anyway? Has anyone fashionable ever worn them? Probably not. Ugh.

With as much reluctance as he could muster, he shuffled over to his wardrobe and opened it up. Immediately, he almost gagged at the sight of the stupid uniform residing inside.

Still, he had nothing else to wear (as far as he could remember, he and his siblings had only been allowed to wear the uniform), so he reached in and pulled the uniform out to put on.

When he turned around to toss it on the bed and begin undressing, he care face to face with someone (or something).

So he screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, reggie the idiot didn’t fuck with grace’s ability to feel worry or empathy, etc, he only made it so she couldn’t administer first aid when it was needed, so yeah (fuck reggie)


End file.
